


Had Enough of Silly Love Spells

by learnthemusic



Category: Merlin (TV), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Merlin AU, Mutual Pining, harry is his sorcerer, louis is the king, niall is a cook, zayn and liam are knights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3343745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learnthemusic/pseuds/learnthemusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why would you give him a potion?”</p><p>The more Harry received the question, the more he wondered what his intentions had truly been. He knew—had done from the moment he got embroiled in that first romantic saga of Kidan the blacksmith—that tampering with the heart was dangerous. It was too fickle to contain with a spell, no matter how arduous or simple. </p><p>Yet he’d gone against his own intuition, and now he was sat in the kitchens with Niall, whose latest conquest was Lottie’s newest maid and who never had any decent advice to offer him when it came to Louis. How was he getting out of this one?</p><p>-<br/>A Merlin AU in which Harry, Court Sorcerer, slips a love potion into King Louis' sleeping draught in hopes of awakening his true feelings for Harry. It goes wrong and Harry puzzles over how to get things back to how they used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Had Enough of Silly Love Spells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClarkeBlake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarkeBlake/gifts).



> I do hope you enjoy this, dear! I had a ton of fun writing it. So glad to have gotten your prompt, "Merlin Au! Harry is Merlin and Louis is King Arthur! You can decide who does everything else but thats my top two OTPs so why not combine them?" because it spoke to me. These are my top two OTPs as well! Made me go back to Merlin fandom and brush up on some fics for a bit.
> 
> Thanks to [Sam](http://asteriaseren2010.tumblr.com) for the beta/britpick. You're my favorite.

Love potions were fickle beasts. 

Potions and tinctures and all types of spells that played the mind of innocent people like fools were fickle. The heart, in particular, was too strong to be overcome by magic. To change its course, one needed deep power, the kind that Harry possessed but sometimes struggled to control. Especially when it came to enchantments like the love potions so oft requested of him. Such magic was dark to him, like a force he shouldn’t be reckoning with. 

Yet the denizens of Camelot had no such compunctions about Harry tinkering with the heart’s desires. They haggled Harry for remedies for their lovesickness, spouting theories that a vial of liquid luck would turn their lives around forever. 

But the thing was, Harry wasn’t one to turn anyone down, not when true love was at stake. Not when Harry believed everybody deserved a chance with their soulmate. Even if the potion wore off eventually, Harry was secretly glad to have had even the gentlest hand in matchmaking. He was a lovesick puppy that way.

The only thing that bothered him was how they addressed Harry as “Your Grace” when they approached him. Camelot had taken well to Harry’s ascension into council, and there were rare souls left who called Harry by name. 

The Court Sorcerer title was nice and it was nothing Harry would have imagined in his wildest dreams. For Louis to bestow it upon Harry for his efforts in keeping Camelot safe was gracious. But Harry had not done what he did in the early years of Louis’ reign to gain recognition. He only aimed to restore magic to the lands, an accomplishment he and his kind would reap the benefits of forever. That was all he wanted.

Of course there were some unwarranted side effects to magic becoming sanctioned again, that, honestly, Harry should have foreseen. The love potions were the main ones. Paul could have warned Harry about the obsession with them—there must have been a similar craze back when magic was first allowed in Camelot.

But since Paul never alluded to it, the perfect, foolproof recipe was solely Harry’s responsibility. He was constantly tweaking it in accordance with the varying degrees of obstinance or docility his…clients, for lack of a more appropriate term, described the objects of their affections to possess. 

The volatile nature of the enchantments meant they were rarely flawless. Sometimes spells ended in heartbreak and sometimes they caused more harm than good. But the sleepless nights and mindless babbling he had to endure were well worth the luminous delight Harry saw in the eyes of people he helped.

☙ ☙ ☙

Harry had never thought to use a love potion for himself. Abusing magic for something so foolish made him ache.

But, really, Harry had just never needed one. Growing up, he’d never been without his fair share of people to kiss. Jonathan, Nicholas and William were all great boys who taught him the many ways of prancing and romancing. There was Alice too, a lovely, willowy girl who let him braid her silver hair by the light of the moon.

That wasn’t to say he was fielding the affections of many suitors now. Or if he was, he didn’t notice. He hadn’t noticed anyone in ages. Not since Louis.

Louis was something else completely. Strong, but not brawny. Demanding, but not arrogant. Beautiful. Just plain beautiful.

Harry should have been discouraged by the very fact that Louis was the King of Camelot. That was not something to take lightly. But the man had endeared himself to Harry so easily that he found himself falling for him without a second thought. He was kind to Harry, even amidst all the bellowing and griping and general bossiness. The best part was that Harry’s magic sang whenever Louis was near, almost as though he were a beacon for it.

Just when their relationship was beginning to feel too intimate for one that was on its surface between a king and his servant, everything went wrong. Harry exposed his powers in the name of saving the Lady Charlotte, and Louis had nearly sacrificed himself to keep both his sister and Harry out of danger. 

That kind of action typically brought people together, yet Louis had drifted so far he was almost a stranger to Harry now.

They had been so close and Harry wasn’t sure if it was Louis finding out about his magic or the fact that Louis almost died in the name of his kingdom that just erased every warm touch between them. Everything was so tentative now, so distant, and Harry didn’t know how to handle himself around Louis anymore. They hadn’t been this way even when Louis first rescued him from the rubble of Harry’s village. They had automatically fallen together like two sides of the same coin—that cursed dragon hadn’t lied about that—and he was easily the best friend Harry had ever had.

Sure, he recognized Harry’s efforts with a high-court title. Yes, he acknowledged Harry’s opinions and seemed to have a vested interest in Harry’s proposals for handling the magical beings that were once Camelot’s enemies.

But that was so superficial.

It didn’t matter what hints Harry dropped him. Once he stated loudly that he wasn’t interested in the fairer sex when he noticed Louis rounding a corner of the battlements Harry was stood on with Niall. A different time Harry forced his way into Louis’ chambers, aided by a few too many flagons of ale at the tavern that evening, and demanded of him the reasons he’d yet to take a queen. 

No matter what Harry suggested, Louis didn’t bite. He either turned a deaf ear, played Harry off as, ‘Oh, you’re just a tad touched in the head, as usual’ or calmly steered Harry out of his vicinity, grip tighter than it used to be. 

Harry was _so tired_ of walking on eggshells around him. He would make Louis notice him, whatever the cost.

☙ ☙ ☙

It just turned out that the cost was one strong dose of the love potions Harry hardly enjoyed brewing. Paul watched him make it with unease, his eyebrows climbing ever higher as Harry doubled the usual amounts of valerian and hemlock. If Harry hadn’t been so intent, Paul’s nerves would have become Harry’s own.

“Do you intend to murder someone, lad?” Paul eeked out. That should have been Harry’s first clue to back off, honestly, because Paul was nothing if not assertive when he knew Harry was making a mistake. For him to sound so unsure should have tipped him off.

Instead, Harry ignored his guardian’s tone. There were some things he would never understand. 

Harry muttered, “He’s stubborn—a pompous, arrogant, stubborn mule,” and closed his eyes. Magic swirled deep in his belly, the roots of it entwined with his very essence. The ghost of the High Priestesses had told him in the Crystal Cave that he was magic itself, but his amazement never ceased when he reached for it and felt it hum throughout his body. 

The spell poured out of him, thick syllables turning his voice to stone and his mind to haze. When he emerged, he grasped for his heaving chest with sharp nails and caught his breath, sparks slowly seeping out of his fingertips. 

“You’ve never done that,” Paul gasped in what Harry could only describe as fear.

Harry’s eyelids flew open and reflected in Paul’s gaze was just that. Darkness had pulled at Harry from the inside, its pulsating beat threatening to overtake him as he struggled out of its grasp. It was no surprise that Paul had seen the outward effects of it. Harry had no idea what it had caused him to do.

When he looked at the vial Louis’ potion was held in, its waters were a serene lavender that smelled of spring. There was no evidence that it was harmful, that maybe the spell had gone wrong. Maybe Harry’s own love had been the cause of such a storm. Maybe it was so strong that it brought out of him the worst things he would ever do in Louis’ name.

No way the potion was dangerous. It was exactly the way it was meant to be. 

Shaking his head to clear the remnants of the magic still clouding his vision, Harry shoved away from the workbench and snatched the bottle up. Paul looked at him as though he’d grown two heads, but the warmth in Harry’s palm told him Paul was wrong for a change.

“It worked,” Harry whispered, marveling at the potion’s beautiful color and intoxicating scent. He was starting to feel woozy himself. 

“Harry…” Paul stood to inspect it closer, a magnifying glass held up to the bottom of it. “I’m not so sure.”

He shook his head, fingers snapping closed around the glass. “No. I’m going to deliver this now, slip it in with the sleeping draught he asked you for—He did ask you for one, right?”

The grimace on Paul’s face was all Harry needed as answer. Grinning in an effort to dispel the tension, Harry called for Paul’s treatment with his magic, tipped the potion into the vial and was on his way.

Louis would find out soon enough what his true feelings for Harry were. He must.

☙ ☙ ☙

When Harry saw Louis the next morning, he expected an apology. A hug, maybe. A declaration of his undying love and devotion would have sufficed.

What he got instead was a glare, a shove into the wall, a shout in his face of, “I never want to see you in court again!” and a prompt escort to the stocks, where he was pelted with rotten produce by children who didn’t know him personally.

Maybe the problem wasn’t that Louis didn’t know his feelings. Maybe it was that he knew so well that he had to bury them in order to save Harry from embarrassment.

Harry should have left well enough alone.

☙ ☙ ☙

Three days passed.

Harry wasn’t the type of person to let a bully get him down. He wouldn’t have survived his early days in Camelot if he had. 

But three days passed and the only thing Harry did was lie in the bed Paul had given him when he first arrived and consider leaving Camelot for good. Which was a tad dramatic, but if Louis didn’t need him, Harry didn’t really serve a purpose within the citadel walls. 

He entertained thoughts of banding with the Druids, who had always taken kindly to him. Even when he had to kill one of their brothers to save Louis and Lottie, they didn’t turn him away. They knew Harry’s destiny even better than he did, and they didn’t forsake him when he went to them for help in restoring his magic following the battle.

A trip to the Forest of Essetir would be a welcome change of pace as well. Harry had nothing there anymore, not since Cendred had destroyed his village and murdered the only people Harry had known. But from the rubble he could raise something beautiful—he was sure of it. A small town for weary travellers, a home for those with magic who were cast away by their own. The ban on magic was lifted immediately following the attack on the throne, but it was impossible to eradicate all traces of prejudice in the Five Kingdoms. Even months later sorcerers were chased off for their abilities. Harry wanted to help them, use his magic for the good of his people, just as he’d always wanted. 

(Not for Louis. Not anymore.)

Or he could roam the lands of Albion without a single care. He could tend to the baby dragon he’d saved years ago more regularly, train her to be like her elder. The Great Dragon might even appreciate Harry not calling on him anymore. He already insisted that he was too old to entertain each of Harry’s whims, though Harry failed to see how that was possible. The beast was ancient, but it never seemed to grow frail.

These were the winding paths his mind wandered. Until the fourth morning, when Paul barged into his room with all the grace of an untrained colt and promptly shut off Harry’s brain with a bucket of ice water upended over his head.

Spluttering, Harry sat up in his bed and shook out his matted curls. He could probably rival a drowned rat with his appearance, that much was certain.

“Why?” he rasped, and it was all he could manage as he coughed at the scratchiness of his throat. 

Paul didn’t appear shaken by his decision to attack Harry at all. He looked rather peaceful, in fact, his eyes shining gayly and a smile fighting for control over his lined lips. “It is time to get up. You have work to do.”

“Louis sacked me.” That hadn’t been in Harry’s imagination. He tried so hard for it to be, but the memory of that rejection still stung as though it had occurred mere seconds before. “He doesn’t want me here.”

“The king may have dismissed your services,” Paul said, placing the empty bucket on the floor, “but I am still in need of an assistant.”

Harry shook his head some more. Working for Paul had got him in this mess to begin with. One moment Harry had been delivering tinctures to the royal household and the next Harry had become Louis’ manservant. He needn’t go through something like that again.

“Find another apprentice,” he told Paul, then he closed his eyes and willed his clothes into dryness. He knew exactly how to be a prat; he’d learned it from the best, after all. 

Paul heaved a sigh and sank down to Harry’s bedside. When Harry rolled over, Paul pushed him right back with a firm hand, and in that moment, Harry remembered that this man had only ever been like a father to him. He didn’t deserve such childish treatment.

But as soon as Harry’s gaze locked onto the pity in Paul’s, he couldn’t offer an apology. His chest gave way and the weight of Louis’ scorn crushed him. He didn’t temper himself like he had the last few days. He sobbed into the cup of his hands and breathed like he’d just left training with the knights.

Nothing was worse than this. Not even that moment months ago when Louis had been on the brink of death could rival this gut-wrenching feeling of complete and total _loss_.

Harry didn’t notice he had cried himself out in the cradle of Paul’s tender touch until the man rubbed one last circle over his shoulders and whispered, “You knew love was a great force, Harry. Too great to be tampered with.”

☙ ☙ ☙

In truth, Harry had no good reason for coming out of the Darkling Woods to call upon Kilgarrah. It was reckless to entrust the dragon with so many of Harry’s problems. He’d been doing it since they first met and it was well past the time he stop doing so.

But after a week of avoiding the king, a flicker of hope lit inside him. Love potions required spells, so there had to be some kind of a magical reversal Harry could employ. An antidote he could make and cast an enchantment over. Put everything back to how it was, even if it meant Louis always keeping Harry at arm’s length. That was far more desirable than the hollow pang in Harry’s chest whenever Louis came to mind, which was so often he didn’t know he how he was useful to Paul at all.

He needed the dragon to assure him that such a feat was possible. 

What he got instead was an earthquake of laughter.

“Young warlock,” Kilgarrah rumbled from above, the night clouds purple behind his head, “you mustn’t trouble yourself with such frivolities.”

Harry huffed, but the words weren’t new to him. Paul had insisted he forget as well. As if it were so easy to forget such pain. Harry heard him now, _you don’t need to forget it, just work with it_. It wasn’t like when his family was killed. He had closure with them, knew that there was nothing he could do to bring them back.

Louis, though, was very much alive. His presence tormented Harry at every turn and he didn’t want to deal with that anymore.

Funny how not wanting to deal with tension was what first got him in trouble.

“It’s not frivolous if he hates me,” he shouted, folding his arms over his too-thin tunic. He hadn’t meant to revert to his old clothing when Paul had finally pulled him out of his funk last week, but it hadn’t felt right to wear robes paid for by the position Harry had been ousted from.

Kilgarrah laughed once more, only this time it was sharp and left an acrid odour in the air. Harry glanced up to catch the whiff of a dying flame above him. “The half cannot hate that which makes it whole, Harry.”

“How can he be my half if he can’t stand the sight of me?”

The dragon scoffed, a sound Harry had become overly accustomed to in his years here. Kilgarrah knew better than any how to ooze condescension with every spoken word. He was a feisty one, yet Harry wouldn’t exchange him for anything.  

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“It is already written, young warlock,” he said simply. 

And within seconds he was airborne, tail skimming over the canopy of the forest and body hurdling away into the night, every answer Harry needed flying away.

With the weight of yet another grandiose proclamation on his shoulders, Harry trudged back through the woods, the hopeful fire in his belly extinguished. Kilgarrah was known to be wrong, after all.

☙ ☙ ☙

It wasn’t as though Harry was standing idly by. He actively inspected every book Paul owned, every tome the castle library held, every scroll tucked under all the loose floorboards in Paul’s chambers. None of them offered a solution. 

The only thing Harry hadn’t done was seek help outside of Camelot, but such a task would have been fruitless. Relations were still tentative. The creatures and magical beings beyond the city walls were rarely helpful when it came to matters unrelated to the ruling of the land. The Sidhe always demanded retribution, the Catha didn’t dabble in mental states and the Druids were too peaceful to let Harry alter Louis’ feelings a second time.

Without Kilgarrah’s guidance, Harry was doomed. 

☙ ☙ ☙

Harry was prepared for Louis’ glares and snide remarks. He was prepared for haughty tantrums in which Louis whirled around to avoid coming too near to Harry, and he was prepared for the awful rumors about him floating around the castle because Louis had always had a petty, little mean streak in him.

He was not, however, prepared to watch Louis carve a path across the courtyard with Sir Aiden after training, their armored shoulders clanging together in some sort of manly mating ritual. He was not prepared to watch the long column of Louis’ sweaty throat gleam in the dying sunshine as he tossed his head back in glee at whatever foolishness the knight had uttered. He was _not prepared_.

Frozen at the top of the stairs leading out from Paul’s chambers, Harry could do nothing but ache at the sight of Louis acting so warmly toward another person. Ages had passed since he last saw Louis so happy. That it was Aiden of all people to coax that from the king was unsettling. Aiden had always been a thorn in Harry’s side, insisting that he’d one day win over Louis’ affections.

Seemed now Harry was out of the picture, he was right.

The pair disappeared into the armory, trailed by no one, and Harry closed his eyes against the onslaught of mental images that detailed all the things two people could get up to if left to their own devices.

☙ ☙ ☙

Aiden had always been an opportunist. That was one thing Harry, Liam and Zayn came to a consensus on when they stole away from afternoon duties a few days later. The Knights had actually been given the rest of the day off, and Harry had already completed Paul’s list of chores. They were free to gossip.

It was nice to get away from Paul and the lovesick courtiers who still demanded Harry’s love potions. He’d closed up shop but people demanded his help, and although Harry was a man scorned, he was unfortunately still very much an enabler in certain respects. 

Except for when it came to devising plans on how to get back in the king’s good graces.

“We could invite you to help us train,” Liam suggested, eyes brightening as the idea took shape in his mind. 

Zayn nodded along, smirking as he said, “The king always said you were great target practice.”

Harry ignored that. Zayn and Liam, highly decorated Knights of Camelot themselves, were always encouraging. They seldom lost hope in their causes, not even when the kingdom was in danger of falling to pieces. Of course Harry had expected them to be on his side; a different prediction would have been offensive to the tankard-half-full sort that they were.

But Harry needed solutions, hard and fast ones that would cease his misery once and for all, and neither of them offered anything plausible.

“I don’t know, lads,” Harry hedged, knuckling over the line of his perpetually furrowed brow. He could feel the beginnings of wrinkles taking form there. “Louis won’t let me anywhere near the grounds. I think the guards have been instructed to remove me from anywhere he is.” He paused to rub solemnly at his upper arm, where one such guard had grabbed him and hoisted him off the main staircase this morning. “Forcibly, I might add.”

Liam’s eyes filled with sympathy and unshed tears, and Zayn’s face contorted into annoyance.

“They shouldn’t do that.” His bare hand thwacked against the stone of the battlement. He was the kind who took slights to those he cared most about very seriously. He might have been the most noble of all the knights; Harry appreciated that.

But right now, as much as he agreed with Zayn, there was nothing he could do. “Louis asked them to.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have,” he spat, then he whipped around and began pacing the dry grass between the skimpy, barely green bushes and Harry and Liam’s feet. “That isn’t what you do to someone you care about.”

Liam watched Zayn for a moment, eyes lost to the smooth motions of his legs under the thin fabric of his trousers, before he seemed to remember that Harry was present too. Harry would have laughed at Liam’s unbridled infatuation in any other moment.

“Maybe you just have to give him time, Harry.” Liam’s words were slow, like he was afraid Harry would lash out for offering such a lousy suggestion. “Don’t give up on him.”

Although his insides wanted him to, for he was so sick of hearing the same thing, Harry didn’t lash out. Honestly, he didn’t think there was a better option at this point. He had just hoped Liam or Zayn would have had reasonable ideas.

Sighing, “You might be right,” Harry leaned his elbows into the weathered rock of the parapet and swept his gaze across the lower town, letting the conversation and the implication that Louis would ever treat him kindly again die away. It was rather busy for this late on a lazy Sunday in the dwindling summer but Harry didn’t question it. People were mucking about their business, tending to the last of their laundry or hustling their children along, and it was peaceful in ways Harry’s life currently wasn’t.

Some day soon, he hoped, he would have the privilege to experience such placidity again.

☙ ☙ ☙

“Why would you give him a potion?”

The more Harry received the question, the more he wondered what his intentions had truly been. He knew—had done from the moment he got embroiled in that first romantic saga of Kidan the blacksmith—that tampering with the heart was dangerous. It was too fickle to contain with a spell, no matter how arduous or simple. 

Yet he’d gone against his own intuition, and now he was sat in the kitchens with Niall, whose latest conquest was Lottie’s newest maid (Harry gave the maid a week. Niall seemed infatuated with her, had been composing poems about her figure since she first appeared to fetch Lottie’s dinner one evening a fortnight ago. But he never kept anyone for long and Harry was tired of keeping track of Niall’s reasons.) and who never had any decent advice to offer him when it came to Louis.

Harry rapped his knuckles on the worn work surface and groaned. “I don’t _know_ , Niall. Doesn’t love cause you to make stupid decisions?”

“I think what you meant is…” Niall paused to test the flavor of the beef stew he was making, then dropped the ladle back into the stock pot and turned around, his apron coming untied in the process. “King _Louis_ makes you stupid.”

Brow furrowed, Harry leaned forward on his elbow and tilted his head. Niall rarely ever made coherent suppositions. “Is that not one in the same?”

“Never been in love, mate.” He tugged the apron off, and the ball he made of it almost caught fire on the stove when he chucked it over his shoulder. “Maybe you’re right. But, face it, he’d make you stupid even if you didn’t love him. He’s—what’s it you call him behind his back? Clotpole?”

Harry laughed for what might have been the first time in weeks. It felt good. “He is a clotpole. And a dollophead.”

The smile Niall rewarded Harry with was radiant, and when he reached over to ruffle Harry’s curls, Harry fleetingly wished he’d just fallen for Niall all those years ago. It would have been so easy.

Then again, Harry had never been one for taking easy paths. And Niall—well no matter how comfortable they were around each other, the lad was only interested in skirts. Harry was very much not.

That was all right, though. Niall needn’t be anything more than a friend.

“Dollophead,” Niall mused, thumb and forefinger stroking his chin. Were it not for the sparkling sheen in his eyes, he would resemble Paul in those too often moments where he pondered the validity of age-old recipes for remedies he had been concocting since before Harry arrived in Camelot. “That is quite the term of endearment.”

Harry could only grin wider in response. “I agree.”

“Maybe you need to—oh. _Oh_!” Niall clapped his hands together excitedly, and Harry blinked back his surprise. The cook ran a circuit around the kitchen, cheering his brilliance at every corner, including the ones occupied by chefs who were actually working. 

In hindsight, Harry should have expected the outburst. Niall was the type to champion the smallest of victories; it only made sense that he counted a revelation as one.

“Love is the greatest force of all, you said, right?” 

Harry could hardly look him straight in the eye when he said, “Yes.” Niall was still bouncing on his the balls of his feet by the stove.

“Then you should kiss him!”

Harry frowned. “And spend a day in the stocks?” No, Louis wouldn’t even come within 100 feet of Harry. He wouldn’t take well to Harry assaulting him with his mouth. And for what it was worth, he didn’t want his and Louis’ first kiss to be tainted by an ensuing visit to the dungeons.

“It would be true love’s kiss, though,” Niall insisted, and he stirred the pot once more before turning back to Harry. Sincerity shone bright through every one of his pores. He actually believed what he was saying, even with all the evidence Harry had presented him about Louis’ new-found hatred. “True love would waken his heart.”

“I think you’re forgetting one detail.”

Niall crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “What’s that?”

“He won’t come within 100 feet of me.” Harry folded his arms across the counter and dropped his chin on top of them, all of a sudden more dejected than he was yesterday. Gods, he and Louis used to be thick as thieves and now—

Now there was a tundra’s worth of ice between them and no way to melt it.

“You just need to remind him,” Niall said, dropping to Harry’s eye level. He wasn’t going to give this up. “Remind him who you were to him—who you _are_.”

Mumbling, “I’m not anything anymore,” Harry tucked his face against his skin and focused on drawing deep breaths. When the weight of that horrific realisation finally lessened some time later, he lifted his head to find a steaming bowl of stew under his nose and Niall brandishing a shiny spoon in front of him. 

The corners of Harry’s mouth turned up softly without his heed. Niall knew better than most how to make Harry feel even the slightest bit better.

☙ ☙ ☙

The thing about the advice Harry received was that his friends took conflicting approaches. He didn’t know how to sort them in his head. He had one person telling him to hold off and another to barge in. Why couldn’t they all agree on the subject? 

Harry let it be. He let a week go by with as very little thought spared to Louis as possible. Paul kept him busy enough, running him up and down the castle with errands like it was old times. Citizens continued to come to him for help with magic, even though he was no longer authorized to officially do so. With the turning of the season, honestly, Harry didn’t have time to spare on the king. Not even at night, when the ticking of his bed was too rough or inappropriately lumpy. He was just tired.

Which left him completely vulnerable to attack. Namely, by Sir Aiden. 

The lanky knight popped up beside Harry at the market one windy afternoon that saw canopies flapping violently throughout the lower town. Harry was struggling to keep his brown jacket on his shoulders and his scarf from smacking him in the face. It was unseasonable.

But it made it easy for Aiden to sneak up to Harry’s elbow and whisper in Harry’s ear, “Hi there.”

Harry lost it—his trencher of berries spilled onto the ground and his heart leaped into his throat at the intrusion. When he spun around after offering Caroline an apology for his clumsiness, Aiden was standing in full armor with a smirk on his face and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“May I help you?” Harry asked, tamping down on every last fiber of his soul that immediately told him to throw down a gauntlet in front of a Knight of Camelot and demand a duel. He’d been doing so well at channeling those thoughts in recent days, but seeing Aiden brought it all back like they’d never been gone.

“Oh, nothing important,” Aiden drawled, his lips still quirked so that he had to speak out of the side of his mouth. He was an idiot. There was no way Louis was actually attracted someone like that. “I hadn’t spoken with you in some time now. Thought it best to see how you were coping.”

Harry was unamused. “Is that so?”

“You know…” Aiden used one hand to gesture vaguely in the air. “With the termination of your employment in court.”

“My termination, hmm?” Magic pricked at his fingertips and the depths of his irises. The gold hue that overtook his eyes when he used his powers threatened to take hold. He needed to be more civil than that, but if only he could. “That’s very kind of you to ask, Sir Aiden.”

Aiden dared smile, all of his crooked teeth gleaming in the dipping sunlight. “I like to know how the citizens of Camelot are doing. It is my duty, after all.”

Harry nodded, then turned back to Caroline’s fruit stand. He counted up to ten before Aiden spoke again. Masterful restraint, he thought. 

“I wasn’t certain you’d heard,” he said conspiratorially, as if Harry was someone he usually gossiped to. Harry kept his head firmly downward, hoping the knight would get the hint that, no, he was not invited to speak to Harry so freely. “But maybe you have, who knows.” In the following pause, Aiden snatched up the lovely pear Harry was about to pick and took a bite into it, and he was lucky that Harry had been reining in his magic or he would have lit Aiden’s entire body on fire with a blink. 

Glaring, Harry dropped a gold coin into Caroline’s box for the lost fruit and stalked off as fast as he could back up the street to the castle. The wind whipped against his lanky body, but he couldn’t feel it over the anger boiling within him. Why did Aiden think it would be appropriate to corner Harry in the market and gloat? Hadn’t he caused enough damage?

“So you know, then?” Aiden broke through Harry’s thoughts, his boots clomping on the pavement as he caught up. Even the way he walked was unattractive.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry replied, head ducked as he circled around a group of children running around the pathway. 

Aiden responded only when he was close to Harry’s side again, panting as he went. For someone so thin, he was surely too out of shape to be in one of the leading lines of defense. Harry had no idea why Louis thought that was such a good idea.

“Oh, loosen up, Harry,” Aiden laughed, but it was really more of a wheeze. Unbelievably weak, this man. “I know you know. That’s why you’re so keen to avoid me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry repeated in much the same tone. He refused to give Aiden the satisfaction of a reaction. 

“The King and I,” he hissed.

Harry knew it was coming. Had known from the moment he saw Aiden trailing Louis across the citadel. It was inevitable.

But to hear Aiden say it so plainly made his entire body burn with ire, jealousy, frustration—every negative feeling Harry had felt throughout the last three weeks, only tripled. He could have leveled a whole village with the intensity of his emotions.

He didn’t stick around Aiden long enough to see the maniacal glint in his eyes, but just imagining it was enough to fuel Harry’s sprint through the lower castle and up the six flights of stairs to Louis’ wing. Enough adrenaline lingered that he didn’t even flinch when the guards in front of the king’s chambers drew their swords against him. He just laughed—a bit crazily, if he was being honest—and disarmed them with a wave of his hand.

“I don’t want trouble,” he said, and he’s never spoken faster in his life, “I just need to speak with the King.”

“He has expressly forbidden you being so near—”

“That’s not an option,” Harry said, and before he could think twice about it, he uttered _swefe nu_.

With the knights now snoring soundly in slumps against the wall, Harry used his magic to unlock the heavy wooden doors of Louis’ chambers and almost fell into the dimly lit anteroom.

Louis, sat hunched over a pile of parchment with his finger trailing slowly along the illegible lines, immediately adopted a look of outrage when he lifted his head to find Harry bouncing with nervous energy before him. “GUARDS!” He clambered to his feet, lunging for the beautiful sword Harry had forged in the dragon’s breath and fixing Harry with a glower and a snarled lip.

Harry had never seen him so hostile, so affronted that Harry had interrupted his study. It hurt, no matter how he tried to convince himself it was the enchantment talking. He almost wished he hadn’t stomped so self-righteously into Louis’ presence—he clearly wasn’t welcome.

But as he shuffled back and knocked into a poorly placed potted plant, Louis slowly advancing with his sword at the ready, Harry noticed a weird sheen over the king’s eyes. They were clouded—and not in anger, but in a way that made it hard to even see the usually electric blue of his irises.

That would be the enchantment working, then.

“I was not joking when I banished you from my sight,” Louis growled.

Harry tuned him out, though, scuffling to put as much space between himself and Louis as he could. When the door stopped his retreat, Harry shut his eyes and hoped his magic could do the work on its own. 

Louis let out a guttural noise as his weapon clanged against what Harry thought and confirmed to be the ceiling as soon as he blinked his eyes back open. This was his chance. Maybe Niall had been on to something.

“GUARDS!” Louis shrieked again.

And the next sound he made was a muffled protest as Harry yanked the king into his arms by the quilted fabric of his jacket and kissed him.

Louis thrashed about, using strong hands to push Harry back by the chest. 

“GU—”

Harry kissed him again, eyes pinched shut as he focused on keeping the sword pinned to the ceiling with his magic and not loosing his grip on Louis’ waist. It was a lot to do at once.

So much, in fact, that it took him seven seconds too long to notice that Louis had stopped fighting. He curled his fists in the front of Harry’s scarf and instead of strangling him, pulled himself closer, so that the hard lines of his body molded into Harry’s soft muscles.

Distantly, metal crashed to the floor.

Harry stopped breathing. Louis was kissing him back now, lips unrelenting as he surged up on his tiptoes and weaved his arms behind Harry’s head. Harry had been kissed by many boys in his day—mainly Jonathan, actually, whom he still missed dearly when he thought of home—but no one had mattered as much as Louis.

Louis, this unfathomably annoying man whom Harry immediately developed feelings for, was the one for Harry. The fates had decided that long before either of them had come into existence, but for this to finally happen and for it to feel so right was remarkable.

“Oh,” was the first thing he said when they broke apart, lungs heaving in the oxygen he so sorely needed. 

“Oh,” Louis echoed back, gravelly in his own way.

The most amazing part about everything was that neither of them tried to separate. Harry clung to Louis’ waist like a lifeline, and Louis suspended himself on his toes so that their heavy breaths mingled together.

“I’ve wanted to do that…” Harry’s voice was brittle to his own ears, but he forged ahead. “For so long.”

A suspicious squeak passed through Louis’ lips, lightening Harry’s heart. “Why did you wait?”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Louis dropped to his feet then, hands sliding down to Harry’s chest again. His mouth was swollen and his shirt was rumpled and Harry couldn’t believe he had been allowed to do that. “Why did you wait?”

“I…” Harry drew a sharp breath, distracted. “I thought you didn’t want me around anymore.”

“I never said that.”

“Excuse me?” Harry took one step back, brow furrowed. “You almost killed me just now!”

Louis wrinkled his forehead right back. “I did what?”

“Don’t you remember that?”

Louis shook his head, watching Harry like he did knights who were on the verge of renouncing their title. Harry wasn’t _crazy_ , thank you. “What are you talking about, Harry?”

“You—I— _Bollocks_.” Groaning, Harry let his head drop and rubbed his scrubbed his palms over his face. He had so much to explain.

☙ ☙ ☙

“YOU ENCHANTED ME?”

Harry dodged the apple Louis threw at his head. It was a near miss. 

“MY FATHER WOULD HAVE HAD YOUR HEAD, HAROLD!”

“But not you,” Harry said cheekily, burying his resentment of Louis’ father as quickly as he could. This wasn’t about that. “You allow magic in the kingdom. I can do whatever I please.”

“Not when it comes to me!” He huffed, indignant as he sank into the back of his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. It was a miracle he didn’t pout. 

Harry deflated. “It wasn’t my best laid plan,” he admitted, and came around the large table to stand by Louis’ chair. He was allowed that now, he figured.

Louis staunchly avoided looking at Harry, and kept his eyes trained on the abandoned parchment. “You betrayed me.”

“Louis—”

“Again.”

Harry’s chest lurched. That argument, he thought, had been discounted long ago. “I thought we came to terms on that.”

“We had,” Louis muttered. “But you lied to me again and I refuse to stand for that.”

“What was I to do, though? You were avoiding me at all costs, Louis, I—”

“You should have just talked to me.” He looked up then. Swimming in his eyes was a mixture of anguish and disbelief. “I trust you, you know that.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, and averted his gaze. “I was hurt.”

“I was too.”

All of a sudden, the hints the knights dropped him last week made sense. They must have known Louis had feelings for Harry all along, but they were too loyal to betray his trust.

Niall, Liam, Zayn—they had all been right.

Harry sank to his knees beside Louis’ chair, heart racing.

“What are you doing?” Louis was bewildered, but Harry didn’t care.

“I love you,” he said in a rush, and he inched forward to put his hands on the arm Louis rested on the chair. Not one cell in his body was devoid of magic in that moment. He was vibrating with it. “I’ve loved you since—honestly, I don’t know. Feels like forever.”

Louis gasped. His chin was almost tucked to his chest, and he stared at Harry’s hands with incredulity. When Harry looked down, it was to see a gold light shimmering where Harry’s grip was leaving fingerprints in Louis’ skin.

Wow.

“I—” Louis coughed, but he didn’t shake Harry off. Harry had almost expected him to. 

“I didn’t imagine you feeling the same way,” Harry whispered. When he released Louis’ arm, the magic faded away. It never went too far, though. “I saw you, Louis. I _know_ you felt something for me before.”

“Harry.” Louis sighed, tenderness flooding over his features as Harry’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “I do love you—of course I do.”

And, actually, _that_ was all he’d ever wanted.

Smiling, Harry jumped to his feet, pulled Louis with him and kissed him again. The king didn’t protest this time. He swayed into Harry’s hold, wound around his waist, and let Harry finally make peace with his agreement to make love potions for the people of Camelot. Otherwise, he didn’t think he ever would have arrived _here_.


End file.
